Schooltime Troubles
by ArtistKurai
Summary: Peter and Edmund are starting school for the first time since returning from Narnia. It's not easy for either of them, but it's even worse when the lesson gives one of them flashbacks.
1. Return of the Kings

A/N: Hello, there. I have another Narnia story. Because that wasn't completely obvious. I mean, it's not like I posted this in the Narnia category or anything. But welcome to my story! There are a few POV changes in this fic, but they're separated so avoid confusion. I hope nobody gets too confused. Also, this isn't necessarily related to Winter Blues and Downcast Summer. If you want to lump them together in the same universe, you can, but I didn't purposefully write them in the same verse. So it's up to you.

I meant to mention this in Downcast Summer, but Edmund and Peter talking about the party after their coronation and Peter dropping the girl he's dancing with came straight from the LWW blooper reel. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go look it up right now on youtube. Go! Right now! I'll wait. You won't regret it.

...

Toldja you wouldn't regret it.

Now, onward!

Disclaimer: This turkey's been in my yard since yesterday. I still have no idea where it came from. My sister says you know you live in the backwoods when a turkey just shows up in your yard out of nowhere. She's not wrong.

* * *

There was no way he could do this.

None.

He didn't have the strength.

Sure, he'd fought in countless wars and battles. Killed innumerable enemies. Written and presented peace treaties. He was king of a nation for fifteen years. A great nation, of the greatest age that nation had ever known.

But this was different.

There was just no way he could do this. Especially not by himself.

It was too daunting, too terrifying.

Too unknown.

These were the thoughts running through Edmund Pevensie's mind as he stared up at the school building before him. His older brother stood next to him, and judging by the look on Peter's face, he felt the same way.

Both boys knew that they were, for the most part, on their own here. They may have been on the same campus, but they were four years apart in age. This meant they would be in different buildings, and there would be little contact between them. Neither brother was prepared for the separation, small as it was.

But then, after everything they'd faced, it wasn't really that small at all.

Peter and Edmund Pevensie had lived every day of their lives together. Growing up in the same house as small children, then ruling Narnia together for fifteen years. They'd barely spent any time apart.

But now they had to go their separate ways, to their own age groups. With deep sighs, the brothers shared a look, then proceeded to their dorms.

* * *

The transition from king to schoolboy wasn't an easy one. And Edmund was sure it was even more difficult for Peter, as he'd been High King. Though all four siblings ruled as equals, Peter's word was the final one. One of his siblings or friends may have come up with the plans of action or solutions to a problem, but it was Peter who ordered they be put into action. The only time the decision was out of Peter's hands was when he was away, leaving the responsibility to Edmund.

So Edmund tried to find time to visit with Peter as often as he could, and Peter did the same. They always could read each other like a book. There was nothing they didn't know about each other. Both brothers found great comfort in this. It meant they could trust each other with everything, without any fear of judgment or condemnation.

Which is why they hated having to sleep in separate buildings.

As a result of leading armies into battle on so many occasions, both Peter and Edmund were plagued by nightmares. They would see the faces of the men and creatures they'd killed, the lives they'd taken right before their eyes. They both hated not having each other to turn to when the dreams got really bad, and seeing the confused and worried faces of their roommates didn't help matters either.

But they were slowly adjusting.

Over the weeks, the boys had created a routine, one that was completely separate from their school schedule.

Peter and Edmund spent lunch together everyday, talking about what was on their minds that day. Sometimes they would talk about the dreams and memories that haunted them, but mostly they talked about the good memories, the ones of their days in Narnia, ruling the land they loved almost as much as they loved each other. And every night, they would sneak out to the garden after supper for a short while, taking comfort in each other's presence before they had to go to bed.

While this time together helped the brothers, they still had their bad days. They just came to accept it as a part of their new lives. Though that didn't mean they had to like it.

* * *

Professor Robert Cunningham had seen many things in his years as a teacher. He'd seen students from all backgrounds, boys with varying learning abilities. He thought he'd seen it all. But when the Pevensie boys came, they brought Mr. Cunningham something he hadn't seen before.

For one, those boys didn't seem like _boys_ at all. Oh sure, they still had a very boyish humor from time to time. But they carried themselves like men. Their eyes held something... a wisdom that even some adults didn't have. As if they'd lived through things that nobody should ever have to. But they hid it well. Just glancing at them, one would see nothing more than two brothers that loved each other.

But Mr. Cunningham could see much more.

And it really concerned him at times.

These were the thoughts in his mind the day he was teaching his history class about the Crusades. Normally, it was a favorite subject with his students. What adolescent boy didn't like studying about wars?

But he got a different reaction from Edmund Pevensie.

Sitting in the middle of the room, the young boy was frozen in his seat. "Mr. Pevensie," the teacher called hesitantly. The glazed eyes and look of almost horror concerned Mr. Cunningham. "Mr. Pevensie, are you alright?"

There was no answer from the boy. Mr. Cunningham approached Edmund's desk and slowly knelt down to look him in the eye. "Mr. Pevensie," he said again, hoping to get the boy's attention.

Mr. Cunningham's concern ratcheted up to worry when Edmund began shaking and his eyes grew wide. "Mr. Porter," he addressed a nearby student, "run to the upper building and find Peter Pevensie. Quickly!"

As the boy did as told, Mr. Cunningham could only hope to reach his traumatized student before any harm could be done.

* * *

Though he had a very bored expression on his face as he sat through his literature class, Peter Pevensie was a high strung bundle of nerves. He didn't know exactly what had him so on edge, but he did know it must have something to do with his brother.

After so many years fighting side by side, Peter knew how to tell when Edmund was in danger. It was like a sixth sense he'd developed. And it was very rarely wrong.

Oh, how he hoped this would be one of the rare times it was wrong. 'Ed, please be alright,' he begged mentally as he tried to make himself pay attention to the lesson again. But his fears couldn't be laid aside.

And Peter's premonition was proved right when a boy in the lower class came banging on the classroom door. Professor Wright barely had the door open when the boy burst into the room. "Peter Pevensie?!" he demanded loudly.

Peter felt ice shoot down his back. 'Edmund,' he thought with dread.

"There's something wrong with Pevensie," the younger boy reported. "Professor Cunningham sent me to come get you right away!"

Without even responding, Peter shot out of his desk and ran to the front of the room. "Take me to him," he ordered, not even caring how it made him sound. His brother was in trouble. Nothing else mattered when Edmund needed him.

Time moved much too slowly as Peter ran to the lower building. He couldn't get to Edmund fast enough, and he could tell the kid next to him wasn't faring much better. But finally, they reached their destination, and both boys slid to a halt. Peter wasn't even winded as he weaved his way between the desks to get to his brother. "Ed?" he called softly, hoping his voice would draw the younger boy back out.

Edmund was still frozen and shaking in his desk, not hearing Peter's words. "Edmund, it's me. It's Peter. You're safe." Gentle, practiced hands reached out to take smaller shaking ones, his thumbs ghosting softly over Edmund's knuckles. "Remember, Ed? We're back at school. We're safe here. Nothing can get us." Peter turned to the professor. "What's the lesson on today?"

"The Crusades," Mr. Cunningham answered cluelessly. Peter let out a soft, mild curse, but he didn't care if the teacher or the younger boys had heard him.

"Edmund, listen to me. You're not there anymore." Peter thought that may have been the wrong thing to say, but he had to find some way to bring Edmund out of his memories. "Please, Edmund. Tell me what you're seeing."

"B-" Edmund mumbled, bringing great relief to his brother.

"Tell me, Ed. What are you seeing?"

"Beruna," the younger boy breathed, his voice so soft, Peter almost didn't hear him.

But he had heard him. And it broke his heart. "You're not there, Ed. Remember? We're in England." Peter ignored the confused looks he could feel on his back. "Beruna was years ago. How long ago was it? Do the math, Ed." Edmund didn't answer. "Sixteen. Beruna was sixteen years ago."

"But I can still feel it," Edmund whispered fearfully. "The ice wand. Th-the Witch is going to kill you, Peter. I have to break her wand."

"You did, Ed. You broke her wand and saved me. You saved so many others. Her wand was her greatest weapon, and you destroyed it." Edmund still wasn't really hearing his brother. Peter let go of his brother's hands and moved them up to gently cup his face. "Come back, Edmund. Come back to me, my King."

This seemed to do the trick, as Edmund's tremors slowly began to decrease. "That's it, Ed. Remember? You're the Just King. My most trusted companion. Come back to your High King."

Tears filled the younger boy's eyes as they finally began to focus. "P-peter?" he asked softly.

One of Peter's hands dropped to grasp Edmund's hand. "I'm here, Ed." He felt Edmund grip his hand and press it to his side. "Is your scar hurting?"

Edmund shook his head jerkily. "It doesn't hurt."

"Do you just want me to rub your scar?" Peter offered. At Edmund's nod, Peter extracted his hand and massaged the scarred skin soothingly. He'd discovered not long after Beruna that rubbing Edmund's stab wound had a calming effect on his brother.

His other hand threaded through his brother's dark hair. "Have you been having nightmares?" Edmund nodded again. "What are they about?"

"S-sometimes, I see th-the Witch. Sometimes it's other wars, other battles we've fought. But most of the time, I dream that I'll never get to go back. That we'll never go back to Narnia, and we'll be stuck here in England forever."

"I'm sure that's not going to happen." At least, Peter hoped that would never happen. His greatest wish was to return to Narnia, his kingdom and his home. "We're the kings, remember? We have to at least visit and make sure our country is being governed the right way."

"We don't want Telmar to take over," Edmund quipped. It was the sweetest thing Peter could possibly hear at that moment.

"I'd prefer Telmar over Calormen. Could you imagine Narnia with temples of Tash all over the place?"

"The great Tisroc, may he live forever," Edmund mocked. It made both of them chuckle softly. "That was the stupidest religion I'd ever encountered. And we've encountered a lot of stupid things, haven't we?"

"Just one of the hazards of being king of the greatest land in the world." Silence settled over the brothers for a moment. It was a much calmer silence, a comfortable one. "How are you feeling now, Ed?"

"I feel like I miss our kingdom," Edmund mumbled sadly.

"I miss her, too," Peter whispered. He leaned his brother down and touched his forehead to his own. "But I'm sure Aslan has a plan. We have to trust in him to watch over us and Narnia. Besides, he wouldn't keep us away from our true home, would he?" Edmund shook his head, and Peter could feel him finally calming down. "Let's go get some fresh air," Peter proposed, rising to his feet and pulling Edmund up with him. "The garden will raise our spirits."

"It does look a bit like the gardens at Cair Paravel," Edmund agreed. The two walked out without even a glance at Mr. Cunningham or the other boys. They both needed the break, the time with each other away from everyone else around them. And as they settled under one of the trees in the courtyard, the brothers let go of the schoolboy personas and embraced their inner Narnian King.

* * *

At the end of class, Mr. Cunningham looked out the window to the courtyard garden. More specifically, to the two boys sitting together under one of the trees. Never had he seen the Pevensie boys more relaxed than they were at this very moment. And after the scare earlier, he was grateful for this.

Mr. Cunningham shook his head in amusement. Those brothers were something else, that was for sure. He couldn't quite put his finger on why they were so different, though Peter saying something about kings seemed to fit.

Whatever it was, he was just glad Edmund had been able to come back from whatever horrible memories he'd been seeing. From the expression on his face and the fear in his eyes, the memories must have been terrifying. Mr. Cunningham could only hope his student never had to face such horrors again.

Though, if the way Peter took care of his brother was any indication, Edmund didn't have anything to worry about. They would be just fine, as long as they had each other.

* * *

A/N: I write these boys angsty, don't I? But I can't help it! I love the bro-angst and the bro-snuggles! You can't hold that against me. It's too cute and precious. Please review! I love hearing your thoughts about my stuff. Thanks!


	2. Dormroom Nightmares

A/N: Greetings, my dears. Welcome to another chapter of Schooltime Troubles. I hope you enjoy.

The time setting on this one is a little bit wonky, but bear with me. I take my facts from the books, as I'm sure you've seen by now. But as they were written for children, any fighting and battle scenes aren't written in much detail. So all the battle details here I'm taking from the Prince Caspian film. Anyone that's familiar with both knows that the children are much older in the movies than they are in the books, so it might get a little confusing to read this. I know it confused me at times. But I hope you can still enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it. 

Disclaimer: I wrote this at work in one day! The whole thing!

* * *

The Pevensie siblings were a little more at peace now after their second venture to Narnia, though Peter and Susan were still trying to come to terms with Aslan telling them they wouldn't ever be going back. That felt like a sword to the gut, especially for Peter, and he knew what that felt like. But he couldn't deny that he was still more at peace than he was before going to Narnia. 

That didn't, however, keep the nightmares at bay. 

A seasoned soldier knows that nightmares will come, no matter how at peace you are. Nothing will stop them completely. 

Peter Pevensie knew this all too well, which is why he should have though about it when he went to bed on their first night back at Hendon House. He later credited the excitement of the day with keeping his mind occupied. 

But once he was back to a routine, all holds were barred. He was relaxed, or as relaxed as a seasoned soldier can be when not at home. He was safe, and he knew that his brother and sisters were safe. 

That's when the nightmares decided to strike.

* * *

It wasn't long after midnight, and thankfully, all the boys were asleep. Prefect Rupert Jones was grateful for this. Some of the younger boys would have trouble settling in the first few nights away from home, but tonight was a quiet one. 

As he headed to his own dorm, Rupert heard shuffling coming from the fourth year room. _Must be someone sleeping restlessly,_ he assumed as he walked by. However, the shuffling quickly got louder, and a few mumbled words were added to it. _Is someone having a nightmare?_ wondered Rupert as he drew near the door. 

"N-no," was heard from inside. Rupert sighed. A fourth year was having a nightmare. While not unheard of, it wasn't a frequent occurrence. "Cas, Ed," the voice spoke again. 

The older student opened the door to find Peter Pevensie tossing and turning in bed. _Wonder what that's about,_ thought Rupert as he neared the younger boy's bed. "Pevensie," he called gently, not wanting to disturb the other sleeping boys. He reached out toward Pevensie's shoulder, but his hand was batted away. 

"No, Miraz," Peter whimpered. Miraz wasn't a word Rupert was familiar with, but by the way Peter used it, he assumed it was a name. "Wasn't Su." 

Tired of being confused and ready to go to bed, Rupert shook Peter's shoulder roughly. "Pevensie, wake up." 

The younger boy shot up in bed, nearly knocking Rupert to the floor. "Pevensie, it's okay," Rupert began, but he noticed the letter opener in Peter's hand, held suspiciously like a knife. The thought to check how sharp it was briefly crossed Rupert's mind before he put it aside and focused on the younger student. "Pevensie, you alright?" He reached out toward him again, but Peter quickly blocked him with lightning-fast reflexes and held the letter opener toward Rupert. The deadly gleam in Peter's unfocused eyes scared Rupert more than he cared to admit. 

"Johnson," Rupert called out to one of the other boys who he knew to be a light sleeper. The boy sat up abruptly and blinked owlishly at his prefect. "Go to the lower building and get Edmund Pevensie," he directed softly. With Peter glaring like he was, Rupert wasn't going to make any sudden sounds or movements. 

Johnson got up and did as told, tearing out down the hallway to find the younger Pevensie. Rupert decided he would try to reach the older one before anyone got hurt. 

"Pevensie, you're alright," Rupert said in a steady voice, hands held out disarmingly. "You're safe here." 

Rupert's father had fought in the War. He was discharged and sent back home after losing his leg in a skirmish, and now he was frequently haunted by nightmares. So this was nothing new to Rupert, but he never thought he would have to do this at school with one of the younger students. 

No matter how much he wanted to, though, Rupert couldn't refute the deadly yet terrified gleam in Peter Pevensie's eyes, and with his sweat-drenched hair clinging to his forehead, he looked just like a warrior in the midst of battle. 

Not a moment too soon, a pair of frantic footsteps could be heard outside, one set moving more swiftly than the other. Rupert glanced up, grateful to see Edmund Pevensie walk through the door. 

"Peter," Edmund said softly but firmly. Rupert knew that tone well. He'd used it many a time himself. Peter, however, either didn't hear his brother or ignored him in favor of keeping his sight set firmly on Rupert. "Peter!" Edmund yelled more forcefully. 

The reaction was instantaneous. In a flash, Peter had turned toward Edmund and was ready to bury the letter opener in his brother's chest. A scream fought to escape Rupert's lips. 

But Edmund didn't even blink. He calmly grabbed the weapon (for in Peter Pevensie's hand, a weapon it was) and threw it harmlessly to the floor before taking Peter's wrists into his hands. "Wake up, Peter!" Edmund yelled in his face, causing the other boys in the room to wake up. 

Rupert stared wide-eyed at the brazen brother. He knew if he'd ever yelled in his dad's face while he was lost in a flashback, he'd have taken his head off. 

However, this didn't happen. Peter froze, blinked absently a couple times, then his gaze focused on his brother. "Ed?" 

"I'm right here, Peter," Edmund comforted his brother, who quickly drew him into an octopus-like hug. Rupert was caught a little off guard by their closeness but he was too grateful Peter was out of that night terror and back in the land of consciousness to care. "What was it about this time?" 

"It was the duel with Miraz," Peter began haltingly. "He got hit with Susan's arrow, but she didn't shoot him. It wasn't her, Ed." 

"I know, Peter. It's okay. I know it wasn't Susan." 

"Sopespian did it." 

"I know it was Sopespian that killed Miraz," Edmund explained patiently. "I saw him do it, remember?" 

"And then the battle started. That soldier came at me, and I just reacted. I cut his head clean off and didn't even think about it. My sword just went through his neck like butter and I didn't even flinch." 

Rupert thought he was going to be sick. While he'd heard his dad mumble about some of his nightmares, it was nothing compared to what Peter was saying. He was almost afraid for his life. Could the Pevensies really be so violent? So scarred? 

"I know it did, Pete. But you had to. He would have killed you otherwise." 

"His blood spattered on me when Rhindon swung back around. I can still see it flying at me. I didn't want to kill him, Ed. I didn't want to kill any of them." Behind him, Rupert could hear the other boys gasping and whispering in disgust and fear. He knew the Pevensie brothers would be the talk of the school come morning. 

"It's not your fault, Peter. They were the ones that chose to follow Miraz. You were just defending yourself and the rest of us." 

"It's always different when it's humans we're fighting. Giants, minotaurs, and other creatures are bad enough. But these were other humans. What if they had families? They'll never get to see them again." 

"You know that's always a risk when we go off to fight. How many times did we nearly get killed during all those battles we fought? Everyone that agrees to fight in a war knows there's a chance they might not return home." Rupert thought he would cry, and he was so thankful his dad was one of the lucky ones that did come back home. "That's why we celebrate life. Remember? No matter how many battles we fight or lives we take, we know that life is precious, and we never take it for granted. Right?" Peter nodded jerkily into Edmund's shoulder and sniffled, his tears spent. "Alright, how about we go back to bed? We both need sleep." 

"Alright, Ed," Peter mumbled tiredly, though Rupert though he could possibly start crying again any second. 

"You want me to stay?" Edmund whispered so softly Rupert almost wasn't sure he heard correctly. 

"No, it's okay," Peter's mumbling voice answered, though his head nodded against his pillow. Edmund cracked a small smile before climbing up into the bed with his brother. 

"Whatever you say," the younger boy snickered. He tugged Peter's blanket over himself and snuggled up to his brother. 

Thankful that the crisis had been averted, Rupert began backing away to finally go to his own dorm when a small voice called him back. 

"Thank you, Jones," the younger boy said softly as he nestled himself down to sleep. 

"You're welcome." Receiving no response, Rupert turned back to the door. Before he could cross the threshold, his foot kicked something, sending it skittering across the floor. 

Picking it up, he discovered the letter opener Peter had been wielding like a sword. His earlier thought came back to the forefront of Rupert's mind, and he carefully ran his fingertips along the length of the blade. Thin slices were left in his fingertips, so fine he barely felt them, despite the blood welling in them. Rupert looked at his injured fingers and couldn't hold back a chuckle, even as a shudder traveled down his spine. 

Letter opener, indeed.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading, guys. If anybody has an idea they want to see added to this universe please let me know. I will warn you, though, that I'm highly susceptible to writer's block. So if I take forever to write your idea or post it, please know it's not personal. I'm just struggling. Please review!


	3. Kindred Spirits

A/N: Hello, my dears. I'm adding more to Schooltime Troubles! Yay me! This chapter is brought to you by the wonderful Tamuril2. Thank you once again for this wonderful idea!

Disclaimer: Couscous with butter is delicious! Why do these things frequently involve food? I just noticed that.

* * *

Jason Jones wandered the perimeter of the rugby field at his son's school. A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he remembered his own days playing rugby for this school, and then later coaching himself. But that was before he'd been drafted. 

He breathed a sigh and leaned a little more heavily on his cane, the aluminum prosthesis attached to his knee making him limp. "Time to sit for a while," he reasoned and slowly made his way to the stands to rest. Another smile appeared as he watched this year's rugby team practice. 

Though he didn't actively participate in the coaching of the rugby team, Jason always liked to stay involved in some way or other, even if it was just watching from the sidelines and giving the current coach his thoughts and opinions. It was always appreciated, so Jason continued to do it. 

One boy caught his eye, a tall, wiry boy with hair almost as black as his own. The boy's frame made Jason think of his own son, Rupert. "Though Rupert would be a few years older than this boy," Jason noticed. His blue eyes followed the boy as he ran down the field, the ball tucked snugly under his arm. "That boy can run," he observed. However, the boy was tackled before he could reach the end of the field. "Ooh." Jason winced in sympathy. That looked like it hurt. 

As the other team members got up to run another play, one boy extended a hand toward the one on the ground. To Jason's surprise, however, the boy slapped the hand away fiercely and shot up into a defensive stance. Jason stood, alert, and kept his eyes on the field. He'd seen that kind of response before, too many times. He had to get down there before somebody got hurt.

* * *

Edmund Pevensie lay on the grass, his back and shoulder aching from their impact with the unforgiving ground. Voices surrounded him, indistinguishable from each other. He couldn't make out any single voice or word; they all just blended together into a mass of sound. 

His mind flashed back to another time and place where he'd heard and felt similar. He opened his eyes just barely, enough to let in light and see the green turf stretched out before him. 

A pair of feet appeared in his line of sight, and Edmund's instincts took over. 

No longer was Edmund on a rugby field, practicing with his teammates. He was now in Narnia, and Edmund the Just was leading his battalion into a skirmish. With lightening fast movements, Edmund was on his feet, his arms held up defensively. His dark eyes scanned the field, trying to determine where he was and how many enemies he was against. 

This place was strange to Edmund. There were no trees in sight. Even in the wide plane that was Beruna, where he'd first seen battle, had trees that he could clearly see. They were far into the distance, but they were there. 

Here, the only green he could see was the grass. Everything else was a dingy gray; even the sky had no color to it. _Where am I?_ he thought in fear as his brain tried to process what he was seeing and compare it to places he'd been, fought, in the past. Edmund reached to his hip for his sword and drew his hand back as if stung. His sword was gone! 

How could his sword be gone? It was supposed to be right there, ever present at his side. Edmund never removed his sword from his belt unless he was safely in Cair Paravel. How could he have gone out without his bloody sword? 

The people around him began to close in on him, their voices getting louder. "No! Back away!" Edmund commanded, a fierce scowl on his face as he swung around to face all his opponents. His fists tightened threateningly, a warning to stay away. 

"Soldier!" a powerful voice broke through the haze surrounding the confused king. Turning toward it, his eyes found an unfamiliar man with black hair and bright blue eyes. 

_Like Rupert Jones,_ his brain supplied quickly. _Must be his father._

"Stand down, soldier," the man spoke again, though not as loudly this time. 

"I am your king!" Edmund responded just as forcefully. "You do not command me." 

"Forgive me, sire," the voice spoke again, this time more contrite. "But sire, you're not in combat. You're safe." 

The calm words confused Edmund. What did this man mean, he wasn't in combat? His eyes never strayed from the older man standing tall before him, but his mind scanned all that was in his periphery. Again, he saw the gray sky behind the other men in odd armor. 

_No, not men,_ he realized. _Boys._ Edmund was surrounded by boys roughly his own age. And that wasn't armor they were wearing. _Uniforms?_

"Can you understand me, sir?" the older man, Jones, spoke again. Edmund's vision focused on that one person, that one voice, and nodded once. "Come with me, sir. Let's leave the field." 

_Field?_ Looking more closely at his surroundings, Edmund realized he was standing on a rugby field instead a battlefield. "My sword?" he wondered softly in confusion, his mind struggling to reconcile the images in his memories with the images he was seeing with his own eyes. 

"It's alright, sir. You didn't bring your sword with you. It's safe enough that you didn't need it with you." Edmund didn't answer. It was never too safe to go somewhere without your sword. Shouldn't this man know that? "Let's go and rest, sire. You don't need to fight." 

Jones senior was holding a hand out toward Edmund, which the king eyed warily. But it was moving slowly and gently, not threateningly. When the hand landed on Edmund's shoulder, he felt himself flinch under it, but it was a kind touch, firm yet caring. 

And so Edmund allowed himself to drop his hands and relax ever so slightly from his defensive stance. "That's it, son," Jones spoke softly. "Let's go sit down." 

As the pair moved toward the stands, Edmund felt himself calming back down and recognized where he was. He wasn't in Narnia, fighting in a battle. He was at school, having rugby practice. _I knew it would be a bad idea to try out,_ he grumbled in his mind. _Try out for rugby, she said. It'll be fun, she said. That's the last time I take sporting advice from Susan._

Soon, Edmund found himself being lowered onto a bench beside the field and a canteen was pressed into his hand. "Thank you," he said softly before taking a long drink. The cool water felt good on his parched throat. 

"What happened out there?" Jones asked as he seated himself next to Edmund. 

Edmund sighed. "Memories," was all he said. 

"I could tell." The younger man looked over at the older. His blue eyes were hard, like they'd seen too much. 

_They look like Peter's,_ Edmund noticed. There were lines at the corners of Mr. Jones's eyes, worry lines that Edmund was very familiar with. 

"You fought in the war." It was a statement, not a question. Mr. Jones nodded. "I can tell." 

"A soldier knows a fellow soldier," Jones agreed. Edmund just nodded. What else could he say to that?

* * *

"Are you related to Rupert Jones?" the boy suddenly asked after a while of silence. It surprised Jason after they'd sat in peaceful quiet for so long. 

"How could you tell?" he asked. 

"You have the same eyes," the boy answered. Jason lifted an eyebrow in response. 

"You have an observant eye." He extended a hand to the boy next to him. "Jason Jones." 

"Edmund Pevensie." Edmund returned the handshake and finally met Jason's eyes. 

"It's nice to meet you, Edmund." The men dropped their hands back to their laps and turned their eyes back to the practice going on in front of them. "I won't ask what you saw just then." Jason could feel Edmund tense up next to him. "I have my own memories. Memories that I fight with everyday. But thankfully, I have my family to help me through those memories." He glanced over at Edmund. "Do you have anybody to help you fight yours?" 

"Yes, sir. My brother and sisters. We all have the same memories, so we're all there for each other." 

"Good." At that moment, the clock in the tower chimed five o'clock, signaling the end of practice. 

"Ed?" a voice called, drawing the men's attention to the edge of the field. A tall boy with golden hair stood not far away, eyeing the dark haired men in confusion. "Everything alright?" 

"I'm alright," Edmund answered in a tired voice, one that the older boy recognized if the understanding in his eyes was anything to go by. He took that as his cue to approach the bench. "This is Rupert Jones's father. Mr. Jones, this is my brother, Peter." 

"Jason Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you." He reached out to Peter, just as he'd done to Edmund just minutes before. 

"Nice to meet you as well, sir." Peter shook his hand firmly. "Thank you for keeping Edmund company this afternoon. I normally do, but I had to tutor a younger student that's struggling in arithmetic." 

"Not a problem. I'm a frequent visitor during rugby practice. I used to be the rugby coach here before I was drafted." Jason noted the lack of reaction on Peter's part. They both recognized each other as a fellow soldier. 

"How is our team looking, sir?" Edmund asked. Peter set his bag on the ground and sat down next to his brother. 

"You're doing well, though I think your defense could use some work." 

"I've been trying to tell Coach Byron that for a while now," Edmund sighed in aggravation. "I don't know why he won't listen to me." 

"He's a bit of a proud man," Jason explained. "He doesn't like to be corrected much, especially by someone younger than himself." 

"He's going to have to get over that if he wants to see any kind of improvement," Peter groused. 

"That's why I keep doing what I'm doing. I'm a few years older than Byron, and we played on the same rugby team while we were students here. So he listens to me. Why don't you bring any suggestions you have to me and I'll relay them to him? You probably see things I can't see from the stands." 

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," Edmund said sincerely, as if being taken seriously by an adult were a rarity for him. Jason hid a scowl at this. He hated it when adults dismissed children simply because they were children. He had learned more from his children than from anybody else. One could learn a lot from children if he just payed attention. 

"You're welcome, son," Jason answered with a smile. Glancing toward the field, he saw the players had begun making their way toward the locker room to change out of their uniforms. "It looks as though you might want to go change out of that uniform and get ready for supper. It's already after five." 

"Yes, you're right," Peter spoke up. He grabbed the strap of his bag and stood. "Thank you again, Mr. Jones. I'll see you at supper, okay, Ed?" 

"Alright, Pete. And will you help me go over my homework later? There's a bit of my literature assignment that I'm having trouble with." 

"How is the silver-tongued devil having trouble with literature?" Peter laughed. "You're better than all the rest of us when it comes to using words." 

"That only applies to missives and treaties, sir," Edmund spat back with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "I'm only the silver-tongued devil in a court." And suddenly the statement about being a king made sense. 

"You're right about that," Peter snorted. "Oh well, don't take too long, brother. Have a nice evening, Mr. Jones." With that, Peter Pevensie walked back toward the school building. 

"That brother of yours is something else," Jason chuckled as he watched the blond walk away. 

"That he is, sir. But he was right, I need to hurry before I miss supper." Jason noted that both brothers used the term supper, just as he had. Most younger people Jason came across used the term dinner when referring to their evening meal. Even his own children preferred to use the term dinner. 

"Well, you better get going then. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pevensie." Jason stood with Edmund and held his hand out once more. 

"And you, Mr. Jones." With a bright smile, Edmund released his new acquaintance's hand and turned to join his teammates. Jason's eyes followed the younger man and he felt a smile of his own. What an interesting pair of brothers.

* * *

A/N: Et, fini. Thank you, my dear friends. And now, for some notes regarding some things included in this chapter. 

Dinner vs supper: While used interchangeably nowadays, dinner and supper have two different meanings. Supper refers to the evening meal, while dinner refers to the main meal of the day. Dinner is used more formally a lot of the time, such as a charity dinner or a dinner party. Supper is much more informal, used in history usually by farmers. Supper was a lighter meal, whereas lunch was a bigger meal, sometimes referred to as dinner. Supper was also much more informal, just a simple meal shared with family. I figure spending fifteen years in a sort of medieval universe would have the Pevensies referring to their evening meal as supper instead, saving dinner for when they're referring to a dinner. Yes, I did research this before typing all this out.

Jason's aluminum leg: I couldn't find much detailed information about prosthesis in the 1940s, but I found that in 1912, doctors started using artificial limbs made from lighter aluminum around 1912. Before, they were made primarily with wood and iron or steel. But those were heavy and cumbersome, so a lighter prosthesis was made from aluminum in the early 20th century. Again, I couldn't find much so if anybody has any information that's more detailed and precise, please let me know. I'm a stickler for historical accuracy!

Jason himself: If anybody's curious, I'm picturing Richard Armitage as Jason in this chapter. The name Rupert just popped into my head when I wrote the previous chapter since it was appropriate for the era, though I didn't really have any kind of inspiration for him. Though if you're a Potterhead like me, feel free to use Rupert Grint as inspiration for Rupert Jones. I just had to have Richard Armitage as Jason because I love me some Richard!

Thank you for reading my loves! Please leave a review and let me know what you think or if there's anything you'd like me to write. Have a blessed day!


End file.
